“Give me a second,” I said and crouched in front of the door, already digging in my backpack for my tool kit. I pretended to struggle with it for a while and then quickly popped it. “Got it,” I said, standing and pushing the door open.
“Where did you learn to pick locks?” Sebastian asked, raising an eyebrow, as we passed through into an older looking tunnel hewed out of solid stone.
“Just a hobby,” I answered. “I don’t get a chance to use it very often.”
I pulled the door shut behind us and Jabez led the way, filming with a small digital camera. It felt strangely peaceful underground—quiet and enclosed. I had told Jabez and Sebastian that I was looking for a particular spot underneath the Cimetiere Montparnasse, an alcove with a sculptural element I had heard about from another artist. I had chosen that direction because it should take us close to Ortoli’s house and the passageway leading to his cellar. There were maps of the catacombs online. They were incomplete and often out of scale but I was fairly sure that by entering where we had and heading toward the cemetery we should be on the right path.
We walked for some time. The air had a still, damp feel and we occasionally passed through inch deep puddles of standing water. Sebastian had warned me and I was prepared with waterproof boots. The tunnel opened wider in places, revealing dim recesses and rough columns behind which lurked shadowy alcoves stacked high with human bones—skulls and femurs carefully piled up, forming a retaining wall that held back the jumble of other, smaller bones. I was keeping track of the distance as well as I could. I felt we should be nearing Ortoli’s house. We passed an alcove, a collapsed tunnel, then finally a passage opened to the left and I stopped, gazing up into the murky gloom.
“Let me check this out,” I said to the others and ducked in. The shaft rose at a slow grade for about thirty feet and stopped at a gate of steel bars. I shined my headlamp through the bars. Twenty feet further on I saw a door. It was marked with an X. My X.
“What did you find?” Sebastian asked, coming up behind me.
“Just a gate. Heavy duty and well locked. Door further up the tunnel.”
“Interesting. Maybe a private entrance. From a cellar in someone’s house or business. It’s not uncommon.”
“Yeah. I wonder where it leads to? Anyway, not where we’re headed tonight. Let’s go back and catch up with Jabez.”
****
Two days later again, I was back on the same street, waiting between parked cars. It was just after eleven PM. Alone this time, I waited for an opening. I had my brought my own crowbar.
Ashna had scored again by finding the architectural drawings created when Ortoli remodeled the house in 2008, submitted as part of the permitting process. I knew now that the master suite was on the third floor and the fourth floor was Ortoli’s office and library. The second floor was guest rooms—probably where the security guards had their monitoring station. I was sure Ortoli would not have the painting there. It had to be either in the master bedroom or the library. My guess was the library. He would want to show it off to the close friends who he brought upstairs. Very few people would ever see it in the master bedroom.
I knew from my surveillance that Ortoli and his girlfriend went out often and stayed out late. I kept watch for two nights. On the second night, I saw the driver pull up and watched the couple slide into the back seat, accompanied by a bodyguard who rode shotgun. They were dressed for a night on the town, Ortoli in a slick blue suit and the lady in a pale green shantung fit and flare dress I found fetching. That left the house protected only by the night security guard who stayed in the entry hall or stood outside the door if he wanted some air. As soon as I saw the car pull away from the curb, I stood and picked up my backpack. On my way down the stairs I texted Ashna the code phrase we had agreed on:
—How’s work?—
My phone buzzed with her response as I exited the front door of the building:
—Stop texting me, asshole.—
She had a weird sense of humor but I knew she was ready. Our plan was for Ashna to cut the internet connection to the house by shutting down the router at my signal. This would take down the security camera video stream to the remote office. The security company would probably call the guard to have him check the router. He would call France Telecom and be on hold with them for an hour while I was making my getaway back through the catacombs with the painting.
I went through the plan in my head one more time as I pried up the manhole, slipped inside, picked the padlock again, and made my way through the tunnels underground. Down there in the silent darkness by myself, I felt a tingling of fear raising the hairs on the back of my neck. I hadn’t expected to feel the oppressive atmosphere so strongly but I had been insulated from it before by the presence of Sebastian and Jabez. Now as I strode along, the shadows seemed to press in, like dark wings folding over me. My eyes played tricks, seeing fluttering shapes and darting forms just out of my field of vision. I walked faster and soon found myself at the gate, out of breath.
The lock was a good one. I didn’t want to waste time trying to pick it so I took off my heavy backpack and dug in it for the cordless drill, hammer, bits, and hole punch I had purchased the day before. The drill made quick work of the lock. I abandoned the tools on the floor
